


a rare feeling

by elmshore



Series: Wayhaven Week 2020 [7]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Other, primarily from bellamy being hard on themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25347271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmshore/pseuds/elmshore
Summary: Bellamy, driven from bed by nightmares, winds up in the training room and things don't go as planned. Luckily, Nate finds them and is able to offer some assistance.
Relationships: Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell/Detective
Series: Wayhaven Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827454
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	a rare feeling

They feel the snap before they actually hear it.

Hissing sharply, Bellamy pulls their arm back and gives — or,  _ tries _ to give — their wrist a little flick. Pain immediately shoots up their arm and they go stock still, teeth grinding together to keep from making a sound. It fades, turning from a burning sting to a dull ache, and they let out a heavy breath, turning away from the punching back. Brown eyes sweep across the expanse of the barren training room until, finally, they hit their target.

Shoulders slumping, they head toward the benches on the far side of the room, and quickly slide onto one, legs crossing as they lean forward, studying their wrist. Not that they have any idea what they should even look for, of course. All they know is that it hurts, doubly so if they move it, but they have no real amount of medical knowledge to tell if it’s broken or just sprained.

Not that it matters, really. Either way, it just goes to show that they can’t do a single thing without fucking it up.

This whole thing had been a stupid idea.

What do they even know about working out like this? Nothing, apparently. Jogging? Sure, Bellamy knows that, is good at that — when they want to put in the effort, at least — and hell, they can even do a bit of yoga, thanks to Tina dragging them to a few classes for company. But punching bags? No, that’s entirely new territory and one that, from the looks of things, they weren’t allowed into.

Maybe that’s why Nate never suggested it, the few times they’ve trained together? He probably took one look at them and thought ‘no, that’s a terrible idea’ and moved on. Shame they didn’t do the same thing, but hindsight always is a bitch.

The only reason they were even in this mess was thanks to a particularly bad batch of night terrors — the kind that left them shaking and itchy, needing to move, to get away from that damn shadow constantly hovering over them. So, they figured they would come down here and work up a sweat, try to exhaust themselves to the point of passing out, but instead all they got out of it was a hurt wrist.

“Knew I should have just pulled up funny dog videos to watch,” they mutter, voice sounding like a shout in the empty room.

Carefully, they trace a finger along their wrist and when another surge of pain flares to life, they grit their teeth once more, swallowing down the cry. Bellamy pulls their arm back and, ever so slowly, tucks it against their chest. A faded throb fills the limb and they sigh, once again cursing their luck.

Now, the smart thing would be to get up and go straight to the medical wing, to let Elidor or one of the others take a look at the damage. However, that would mean admitting just  _ how _ this happened and truth be told, they would rather avoid any further embarrassment for this evening, thank you very much.

“Besides,” they say, as if arguing with the rational side of their brain, “it’s likely just a sprain. I’ll put some ice on it and it’ll be fine.” The words are said with enough conviction that, for a brief second, even they believe them.

And hey, if it’s  _ not _ fine, well, they can cross that bridge when they get to it.

Suddenly grateful that the only thing they brought on this excursion was themselves, Bellamy heads out of the room, flicks off the lights, and steps into the hallway. With their uninjured hand, they retrieve their phone from their back pocket and as the screen lights up, 5:30 a.m. mockingly stares back at them. They groan, tuck the phone away, and begin making the trek back to their room.

Early hours don’t necessarily guarantee solitude — the supernatural don’t exactly keep regular sleep schedules, but hey, neither do they it seems — and so all Bellamy can do is pray that they make it back without running into anyone.

So, of course, that doesn’t work.

They are so close to their room, only one hallway to go, but as they round the corner Bellamy slams into something solid. Or rather,  _ someone _ solid. Their arm is caught in the impact and this time, they can’t stop the gasp of pain, feet stumbling back before a hand curls around their elbow, helping to keep them upright.

“Bellamy! I’m so sorry,” a voice, one they recognize immediately, hits them and they send yet another curse out to the universe, to whoever (or whatever) might be listening. Out of all the people to run into, it just  _ has _ to be him, because they haven’t suffered enough shame for one night. Morning. Whatever.

“Hey, Nate,” they say, try to laugh but only manage a weird puff of air that sounds like a mixture of a cough and a wheeze. “It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“No, the fault is mine. Are you alright?”

Bellamy finally dares to look up and finds those brown eyes staring back at them, filled with worry. They swallow, a lump forming in their throat, and nod. “Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your heart rate is accelerated,” he explains, the hand gripping their elbow sliding up, over their arm, and the touch sends little shivers dancing along the flesh. “You also sounded as if you were in pain.”

“Oh, that! Well, I mean, you’re a pretty solid guy,” they counter and like the way he smiles at the lame joke, glad their attempt at humor hit its mark this time. “But, no, I’m okay, just on my way back to my room.”

“I see, well in that case, allow me to escort you?”

Every part of their mind screams at them to tell him no, that they can make the rest of the journey on their own, but the warmth in his gaze renders them unable to do anything except nod. It’s an effect he seems to have on them frequently, and one they are still getting used to. 

He falls into step beside them, a hand settling against their lower back, and then, they are off. Despite his long legs, Nate slows his pace to match their own. It’s something he does frequently, continually allows them to dictate the pace in all that they do — from walking to this budding romance of theirs, he lets them choose the speed. They’ve never said anything about it, but Bellamy appreciates it more than he can ever know.

After Bobby and his need to rush, to push them into being more than they could be for him, it was nice to have someone willing to wait. Someone who considers them  _ worth _ waiting for.

“How did you hurt your arm?”

His question causes them to falter, feet slowing to a halt, and all they can do is blink at the back of his head before he too stops and turns, smiling. “How — ”

“You’re holding it in a way you normally don’t, to keep it from moving as much as possible, I would guess,” he says, eyes dropping to the arm nestled to their chest. He steps closer and reaches out, fingers gently wrapping around the limb. They grimace, another bolt of pain racing through them, and he murmurs an apology, slowly pulling the arm toward him.

“Where is the injury?”

“My wrist.”

He nods and examines the area. Presses a finger to it, lightly, and when they whine, senses overloading with pain, he stops. “I think it may be sprained,” he says and lets his gaze catch theirs. “How did this happen?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Darling, I hardly think you being hurt is a cause for laughter.”

They chew their bottom lip and tear their eyes away from his, focusing on the wall beside them. “I was trying out the punching bags,” they admit, shake their head, and continue, “it looked so easy the last time we were in there and I just, I don’t know, felt like punching something.”

Nate hums, a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and lets go of their arm. They pull it back, settle it against their chest, and watch him. Silence fills the space between them and he lifts his hand, fingers brushing across their cheek, tucking a stray curl behind their ear. Between them looking away and then back, he’s moved, closer now, and no matter how hard they try, Bellamy can’t help the flush creeping into their face.

“Was it another nightmare?”

They nod, throat dry and tongue too heavy to form words. He knows about the nightmares, about the contents and the shadows, and so there is no need for explanations or further questions. Instead, he simply tilts forward and places a warm kiss to their forehead. Moves, falls back into place beside them, and wraps an arm around their waist, leading them onward.

“We should have it seen about.”

“No!” They wince at their own volume and quickly lower their voice, eyes darting up to look at him. “No, really it’s fine, all I need is to get some ice on it.”

“Bellamy — ”

“Please, Nate,” they plead and when he sighs, they know they’ve won this mini battle.

“Very well, but if it’s no better by later today, I’ll take you to the medical area myself.”

“Oh, is that a threat, Agent Sewell?”

“No, but it  _ is _ a promise, Detective Santos.”

They do manage a laugh this time and when he joins them, the sound sweeps over them. For a wonderful moment, all of their worries and pain fade, falling away until it’s just the two of them. Bellamy isn’t sure how he does it, how he takes all of their edges and smooths them out, softens them, leaving them calm and content, in a way they haven’t felt in so very long.

It’s a rare feeling, and one they cherish dearly.

Once they reach the door, Bellamy expects Nate to leave, to bid them goodnight with a warm smile and a kiss that will set their heart fluttering like a hummingbird. He doesn’t do either of those things, however, and when he opens the door to guide them inside, he follows. Shuts the door and they turn to look at him.

“Nate, you don’t have to — ”

“Go sit down, love, and I’ll fetch the ice,” he says, gestures toward the bed, and then heads past them, toward the small kitchen area built into the room.

Seeing no other option, they do as he says and make for the bed, plopping down rather ungracefully, body sagging forward. Off to their left, they can hear Nate shuffling about and, as he gathers the ice, they take a moment to look at their wrist again.

It’s not bruised — at least, not yet — but the ache is ever-present. At least they have some confirmation that it’s likely not broken, which is good. The last thing they need right now is a broken wrist.

Nate returns and takes a seat beside them, mattress dipping under his weight and causing them to tilt toward him. Or, maybe, it’s their own body, moving on its own accord. “Here,” he says and, gingerly, as if afraid it might break under his touch, presses the cloth-wrapped ice to their wrist. Holds it there until they take over, hand falling away as their own grips the pack, keeping it steady.

“Thanks,” they manage, shuddering as the chill of the ice seeps into them.

That arm slides back around their waist and this time, they do lean into him, head resting against his chest. They take a second to enjoy this, the even sound of his breathing acting like a lullaby and without meaning to, they can feel their eyes slipping closed, a yawn working its way out.

The last thing they feel, before sleep claims them, is a kiss atop their head.

Bellamy wakes later, sunlight streaming in through the parted curtains, and they are alone. A brace has been carefully wrapped around their wrist, helping with the pain, and a note rests beside them. As they unfold it, Nate’s elegant handwriting greets them.

_ I hope this helps, if only a little. Should you need anything more, please, come find me. In the meantime, try to get some rest! Love, Nate. _

They smile and allow themselves to sink back into the bed, note clutched to their chest. They’ll definitely take him up on that offer, but for now, a little extra sleep sounded just perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> And the final prompt! This one uses both prompts (Shatter & Mend) and was definitely the hardest to write, simply because I couldn't figure out what to do for the prompt. I like how it turned out though, so that's what counts. I'll be writing more for this series for sure, I feel like this has helped me get a good grasp on not only the voices of my Detectives, but on the other characters as well. I'm excited to explore more of this world!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Any kudos/comments are appreciated and if you have one, drop by my tumblr! I'm elmshore over there as well.


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